


Corpses

by rottedcorpses (radicalcannibal)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dead People, Death, Drabble, Gen, I suppose, a really short one, but minor, have fun kids!, im so sorry armin, lots of them - Freeform, or something like it, yay!, yeah angst, yeah its a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicalcannibal/pseuds/rottedcorpses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Armin, death was no foreign concept. It was the path he followed, and he knew it better than the palm of his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corpses

To Armin, everything could be death. It was elegantly intertwined with his life, it seemed, and there was no shaking the ugly - no, _beautiful_ \- brutality that surrounded him. It was a dance, swishing ropes and twirling swords and blood and steam and sweat and rot.

Sitting in the back of the transport wagon, corpses everywhere - death. Soaring through the air, trampled soldiers - death. The mere idea of hiding behind walls even reminded him of death.

It reminded him of lying men and rotting demons.

Falling walls and falling soldiers.

Death.

 

+++

 

Let it not be said that Armin was an unhappy child. An unhappy adult, maybe, but not an unhappy child.

But even as a child it followed him. It hid in bound-leather covers, and worn paperbacks, the characters that lived and died like the puppets they were - no, _like humans_. They dreamed and loved and smiled and fell to the ground and cried. They, like the humans they were, died.

And sometimes, when Armin glanced up from his books, a cart full of dead men would pass by, wrapped firmly in their green cloaks.

Limited books and limited lives.

Death. 

 

+++

 

Sometimes when Armin saw his comrades, he saw gleaming blades and swishing cloaks and bright eyes.

He saw hunters.

But other times, Armin saw blood and rot and resignation, artificial masks hiding dead men.

He saw living corpses.

After all, he'd think, their death was inevitable. It was bound to happen anyway, so did it matter if it was now or if it was later?

Bloody men and bloody corpses, did it even matter anymore?

Armin didn't know.

But he knew one thing like it was the palm of his hand.

Death.

 

+++

 

**Even the hunters are prey to what is above them.**

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at like 2 last night and here i am posting it the night after
> 
> ahaha i hope you liked it


End file.
